A Light for My Path

I’m writing this post on April 11^th, 2025, the eighth anniversary of my younger daughter’s death.

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As an aside, don’t you feel the word “death” is harsh? I do. I love the African American tradition of referring to a memorial service or funeral as a “homegoing celebration.” It doesn’t negate the grieving over the loss of a loved one. But it reminds us of the joyful passage into our eternal home. From now on I’m going to refer to April 11^th as the anniversary of Rachel’s homegoing.

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I’ve mentioned before that one of the devotionals I read each morning is Our Daily Bread. The title of this morning’s devotion was Good Grief. The author talked about the relationship between Elisha and Elijah. Elijah was Elisha’s spiritual guide and mentor. They were so close that they referred to each other as father and son. Elijah had told Elisha that he would soon be leaving him; he even knew the exact day. On that day as they were walking, Elijah used his cloak to part the waters of the Jordan river and they crossed on a dry riverbed. Then a fiery chariot came down and took Elijah bodily to Heaven. Elisha was grief stricken. He picked up Elijah’s cloak (probably as a keepsake) and struck the water with it as Elijah had done. The river parted again. This was a sign to Elisha that Elijah and the Lord would always be with him and that Elisha had inherited Elijah’s powers as a prophet.

I enjoyed reading this familiar story again but wasn’t expecting what came next. Here’s the paragraph that follows:

Have you lost someone you love? No words can do justice to your pain. Every sob releases memories of the love you shared. You hurt deeply because you loved deeply. How bittersweet! Thank God for this beloved person and for your capacity to love. Elisha picked up Elijah’s cloak. What might you do?

Good Grief by Mike Wittmer (Our Daily Bread, April 11, 2025)

What a sweet coincidence that these words were published on the anniversary of my daughter’s homegoing. She wasn’t whisked away by a fiery chariot. I wasn’t there to pick up a memento. But there are reminders of her all over my house and in my heart. And I know without a doubt that she is in her Heavenly home. What might I do?

I’m no prophet, but I have received so many good things from God through His grace, mercy, love, and forgiveness. So, I can honor her memory by trying to do good in the midst of my grief. I can reach out to other grievers and offer hope and comfort. I can remind hurting hearts that we have a forever home to go to.

Good grief – it’s the least I can do!

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Laura